Fort Moultrie, arranged military-wise on
the grassy promontory; nevertheless, as is not infrequently the case
elsewhere, the humbler store did the larger trade.

The coming of Peter Minot ten years before had worked a kind of
revolution in the country. He had brought war into the very stronghold
of the arrogant fur monopoly, and had succeeded in establishing himself
next door. The results were far-reaching. Formerly the Indian sat
humbly on the step with his furs until the trader was pleased to open
his door; whereas now when the Indian landed, the trader ran down the
hill with outstretched hand.

Far and wide Minot & Doane were known as the "free-traders"; and some
of their customers journeyed for three hundred miles to trade in the
little log store.

The partners were roused by a shrill hail from up the shore. Grateful
for the interruption, they hastened to the edge of the bank.

Summer is the dull season in the fur trade. Most of the firm's
customers were "pitching off" among the hills, and visitors were rare
enough to be notable.

"Poly Goussard," said Ambrose after an instant's examination of the
dug-out nosing alongshore. Ambrose's keenness of vision was already
known in a land of keen-eyed men.

"Taking his woman to see her folks," added Peter.

Soon the long, slender canoe grounded on the stones below them. It
contained in addition to all the worldly goods of the family, a swarthy
French half-breed, his Cree wife and three coppery infants in pink
calico sunbonnets.

The man climbing over his family indiscriminately, landed and came up
the bank with outstretched hand. The woman and children remained
sitting like statues in their narrow craft, staring unwinkingly at the
white men.

Mrs. Goussard as a full-blooded Cree was considerably below Peter's
half-breed wife in the social scale, and she knew better than to make a
call uninvited. Even in the north, woman, the conservator, maintains
the distinctions.

"Stay all night," urged Peter when formal greetings had been exchanged.
"Bring your family ashore."

Poly Goussard shook his head. Poly had a chest like a barrel, a face
the color of Baldwin apples and a pair of rolling, gleaming, sloe-black
eyes. His head of curly black hair was famous; some one had called him
the "Newfoundland dog."

"I promise my wife I sleep wit' her folks to-night," he said. "It is
ten miles yet. I jus' come ashore for a little talk."

"Fine!" said Peter, "we'